


Warm by the Fire

by LindsayBay



Category: The Dark Half (movie)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Blizzards & Snowstorms, Cabin Fic, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 20:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindsayBay/pseuds/LindsayBay
Summary: This features the character Sheriff Alan Pangborn as played by Michael Rooker in the Movie 'The Dark Half'. Pangborn and the reader are stuck in a cabin during a snowstorm.





	Warm by the Fire

You hear the crunch of tires in the fresh snow and set down your paintbrush. Looking out your picture window, you see an unexpected delight: Sheriff Alan Pangborn unfolding his long legs out of his SUV. You open your front door and lean out. “What brings you here today, Sheriff?” **  
**

Alan has his winter uniform on, complete with furry hat, but he still looks a little chilly. His cheeks and the tip of his nose are pink. “What’s with this ‘sheriff’ business?”

“What brings you here today, Al?” you amend.

“We’re just checking to see that all you hermits out here are prepared for the blizzard that’s bearing down.”

“I’m fine. I’ve got lots of kerosene and firewood and food.” You watch snowflakes land on Alan’s eyelashes. That man has always had the prettiest eyes. “Since you came all the way out here, you should come in for a cup of hot chocolate. And I just made banana bread, too.” You step back from the door so he can come in.

“With a wood stove? I’m impressed.”

“I’m a woman of many talents.” As he walks past you, you can’t help dropping your gaze to his rear end. As an artist, you feel qualified to declare it a work of art. You can’t get over how the skinny, gawky boy you used to know turned into this ridiculously good-looking man.

You head to the kitchenette and pump out some water at the sink to put into a saucepan. You place the pan on the wood stove that you use for both cooking and heating and add cocoa, sugar, and a pinch of salt.

Alan strolls toward to rear of your one-room cabin to the wall that is nothing but glass. Your cabin is built right on the edge of a bluff. At the bottom is a river, with trees beyond that seem to stretch all the way to Canada. “Hard to believe we’re just ten minutes away from Castle Rock here. It looks like we’re in the middle of the wilderness,” he says.

“That’s why I like it here. It’s so peaceful, but civilization is still close by,” you say, stirring the saucepan.

Alan turns and smiles at you. “If you can call Castle Rock civilization.”

You can’t help but smile back. Smiles from Alan are rare these days. He’s well known for being a bit of a grump. But, to be fair, Castle Rock seems to have more than its fair share of weird goings on. He has more to cope with than the average small-town sheriff ought to. And then there’s his family situation. His wife moved out and took their son with her to Derry over a year ago. Pangborn maintains that she’s merely helping her aging mother out and will be moving back soon, but no one believes that.

The mixture in the pan is boiling and you add a can of condensed milk. Pangborn sheds his jacket and hat and sets them on a chair. He fills out his uniform shirt nicely, his shoulders straining at the fabric. He moves over to your easel and inspects your work: a family of cartoonish dinosaurs wearing clothes. “Another kids’ book?”

“Yup. My bread and butter.”

“I like it. I mean, I like your arty art, too, but I couldn’t have it in my house. You put clothes on dinosaurs, but not on the people you paint.” He turns and gives you a look that’s downright mischievous. This is a side of Alan that you rarely get to see anymore. And you like it.

You remove the saucepan from the stove and stir in some vanilla. You pour the hot chocolate into generous-sized mugs and add three fat marshmallows to each, then carry them to the coffee table in front of the fireplace. Alan sits down on the couch as you add more wood to the fire. He takes a sip. “This is good.” He takes another sip. “Really, really good. Amazing.”

“Let me guess. You usually have hot chocolate that comes out of a little foil packet.”

“Guilty as charged. I just never have much time, and ever since Annie…” His voice trails off and his mouth tightens. To defuse the momentary awkwardness, you turn on your battery-operated radio. It’s set to a golden oldies station. The Beach Boys are singing about fun in the sun. The corners of Alan’s mouth lift again. “ This song feels like science fiction right about now,” he says, pointing at the view outside. The snow blows by in sheets. “Looks like I’ll have to go after I’m done with this. I need to get back to the station before visibility gets down to zero.”

You can’t help feeling disappointed. You would love to spend more time with this man. A whole lot more. Over the wailing of the rising wind, you can hear the sound of a county snowplow coming down the road. It seem bit foolish to be clearing the roads this early into the storm. As it passes in front of your cabin, you hear a loud, horrific crunch. Alan shoots up off the couch, saying a word you’ve never heard come out of his mouth before.

You follow him outside. His SUV has been tipped over on one side and smashed into the trunk of an ancient oak tree. You had always thought the phrase ‘hopping mad’ was a metaphor, but now you see it: Alan Pangborn swearing, punching the air, and leaping off the ground as if launching himself after the retreating snowplow. “Son of a–he didn’t even stop!”

“What are you going to do?” you shout over the wind. In the brief time you’ve been outside, you’ve gotten covered with snow, and your clothes are wet through. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to keep your teeth from chattering.

“Get back inside before you catch your death!” he yells back. He puts his arm around you and leads you back into the cabin. “I suppose you still only have that little Toyota?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Alan shakes his head, dislodging a flurry of snowflakes. “That’s not going to be any good at all in these conditions.” He goes to stand in front of the fireplace to dry off as he radios for assistance, to no avail. “Damn. Storm must have knocked our radio tower down.”

“Looks like you’re stuck here.” You will your face not to display how pleased you are at this turn of events.

“Guess so.” He moves closer to the fire, trying to dry his clothes out.

“I have some sweats you could change into until your clothes are dry. I mean, they’ll be a bit snug, but tight is better than soggy,” you offer.

“Why not. If I’m going to be here all night, I might as well be comfortable.”

You dig in the trunk at the foot of your bed and pull out a pair of dark blue sweatpants for Alan and a sleepshirt for yourself. Alan takes the pants from you and looks around the one-room cabin. “Guess there’s no place to go change?”

“Not unless you want to use the outhouse. Which will be awfully cold.”

The two of you turn away from each other to change. You find yourself hyper-aware of his presence, the rustling sound of his undressing raising goosebumps on your upper arms. You’ve had several unclothed people in your cabin, models posing for your art. There was nothing particularly sexual about it. But knowing that Alan Pangborn is just a few feet from you, taking off his clothes… You’re feeling things that you haven’t felt for a long time.

“You decent?” Alan asks.

“Yes. How about you?”

“Yup.” You both turn around. Alan is barefoot and bare-chested, wearing only the skin-tight sweatpants. The flickering amber light from the fire illuminates his gorgeous torso. His mouth quirks up as he takes in your calf-length sleepshirt in plaid flannel. “So… You said something earlier about banana bread?”

Alan settles back down on the couch and wraps a crocheted afghan around his shoulders. You set several slices of banana bread and a stick of butter on a platter and place it on the coffee table. When you sit down, the side-slit of your sleepshirt opens (accidentally on purpose), showing off a good portion of your thigh. Alan catches sight of it as he reaches for the platter, and he actually freezes for a second, staring. His cheeks flush and he quickly grabs a slab of banana bread, buttering it so hard that it starts to fall apart. He pops a chunk of it in his mouth and he actually moans. “This… This is so good.” He licks a bit of butter from his lower lip.

“You really should have someone who will make you banana bread on a regular basis.” You pause a moment. What you’re going to say next could ruin the rest of the night, if it hits Alan wrong. You grasp his chin and gently turn his face toward you. “You should have someone who will be around for you.”

So many expressions flicker across that beautiful face. “My wife…” he says falteringly, “she’ll be back. When her mother…”

“Doesn’t need her anymore. But what about you? What about what you need? You work so hard taking care of Castle Rock. You deserve to have someone who will be around for you.”

His face looks so sad. “I made those wedding vows before God and man”

“But didn’t she break her vows first? Leaving you alone? Taking your son away? When’s the last time you saw your boy? And… you know what people have been saying.”

“People say a lot of things.”

“But… but I’ve seen it. I took my niece to Portland, to Palace Playground, and she and your boy were there. With… him.” You don’t need to say the name. You both know who it is. Annie’s high school sweetheart. Back when Al was considered too nerdy for a homecoming queen like Annie, she’d been with the star quarterback and homecoming king.

Alan stares at the fire, twisting his hands. He’s quiet for so long that you start to think that you’ve made a mistake. “You knew how hung up on Annie I was all through school. Everyone knew.”

Oh, yes, you knew. All too well. All those years he’d spent mooning over Annie, you’d been mooning over Alan. Scrawny, pimply Al who always had his nose in a JRR Tolkien book. Al with the unkempt curly hair and the gorgeous, long-lashed blue eyes. Once his skin cleared up and he took up karate and became a deputy sheriff, then, only then did Annie deign to notice him. But you’d wanted him all along.

Alan runs his hands through his hair, making it stand up. “I don’t want to say that marrying Annie was a mistake. It got me my boy, after all. My son isn’t a mistake.” He pinches his bottom lip between a thumb and forefinger and furrows his brow.

“Maybe it was… a detour? It just made you have to take a little longer to get to where you were going.”

Alan looks at you again, his thumb rubbing along his lower lip. The oldies station has just started playing  _Unchained Melody_ , and the firelight is imbuing everything with a honey-colored glow. This moment is fraught. You can tell that, after this, nothing will ever be the same. For better or worse.

“Want to dance with me?” he asks softly. His eyes crinkle at the corners.

You grin. “Sure.”

The two of you stand up. You push the coffee table to one side with your foot. Your arms go around his neck as his go around your waist. “Remember when we danced at that homecoming dance?” he asks.

“Yeah. How did that song go? ‘I never laid a hand on you but my eyes adored you’.” Your face is nestled in the crook of his neck, and you can smell Old Spice. “You were looking at Annie.”

“And you were looking at me.”

You pull your head back and look up at Alan. “You knew?”

He grins. “Everyone knew.”

“And here I thought I was being so subtle.”

“No one is subtle in high school.” You and Alan gaze into one another’s eyes. Time stands still. And then it happens: he presses his lips to yours.

At first, you don’t even react. You’ve dreamed about this moment for so long, and it almost doesn’t seem real. But then your lips soften and part, kissing back. You press yourself against him as you let his tongue lightly brush the inside of your mouth. Your hands slide down his muscular back. His hands explore you, running slowly up and down your sides and back, cupping your buttocks, stroking down your flanks to your thighs. He pulls up your nightshirt, moaning a little when he finds that you’re wearing nothing underneath. His touch on your bare flesh sets you on fire. His big hands caress your hips, your ass, the insides of your thighs. His thumb explores further, brushing against the cleft between your legs, delving within, finding your wetness and stroking until you get even wetter.

Your breathing is getting more ragged, your kisses rougher. When he starts pressing his thumb against your most sensitive place, your little hidden nubbin, you can’t stop yourself from whining. “ _Please_ , Al.”

He grabs you under the butt, picking you up and carrying you to your bed. He sets you back on your feet just long enough to strip your nightshirt off, then he tosses you onto the bed. You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he struggles free of the sweatpants.

Now he’s completely naked in the firelight, his perfectly formed body yours for the taking as he lays next to you on the bed. You want to touch him everywhere, and you do. You wind your hands through his curls and tug, then trail down his face, to his mouth that nips and sucks at your fingers. You stroke his thick shoulders and move to his rounded pecs, making his little nipples get hard. You lick your way down his hard, flat stomach, moving to nibble at his hip lines before moving to the outsides of his thighs. You nip the backs of his knees, then work up the insides of his legs. You try to go slow, teasing him, but it’s hard to hold back, especially when he starts moaning and squirming.

You run one finger up the length of his erection and it spasms in response, a drop of pre-cum rolling out of the tip. “Oh, please,” he breathes, his hips lifting slightly from the bed. Your tongue follows the path of your finger and he whimpers. Your run your tongue around the head of his cock, then slowly suck it all into your mouth.

His hands tug at your hair. “I want to taste you,” he gasps.  Not releasing him from your mouth, you maneuver yourself around until your knees straddle his chest. He knows what you’re doing. He grabs your hips and pulls you down toward his face, using one hand to open you up. “Mmm, you taste so good,” he says just before nipping at the tender flesh at the very top of your thigh. Then his tongue gives you a thorough going over, exploring every nook and cranny. Every time it brushes your clit, you moan, making him jump inside your mouth.

You feel like an animal, sucking hard on Alan’s cock while you rock your hips against his face. He thrusts two fingers inside of you and you cry out. You fell yourself tremble and contract around his fingers as a shiver starts between your legs and moves through your entire body. Your orgasm sets Alan off; his cock spasms and fills your mouth with liquid heat as his hips lift completely off of the bed.

Afterwards, the two of you lay together, Alan’s head resting on your breasts. You talk a little, you listen to the radio a little. “You.. you don’t feel guilty, do you?” you ask.

He takes a moment to think before answering, stroking your stomach. “I don’t. You’d think I would, but I don’t. I guess… I guess I really don’t feel all that married anymore. I suppose I should do something about that.” He kisses one of your nipples. “Get a divorce so you’re not the other woman.”

You look down at him. “So, we’re a thing now?”

He grins up at you. “Looks like it. You poor thing. You really want to deal with grumpy old me?”

“I do.” You run your fingers through his hair again. Amazing to think that you can do this whenever you want now. “I just have one favor to ask.”

“Sure.”

“Can I paint you?”

……………..

“How long do I have to stay like this?”

“Just let me finish my sketch tonight.”

Alan is still in bed, his hair messy. He’s resting on one elbow, laying on his side with his other arm folded around his head. The rumpled covers are pulled up just to the bottom of his hips, leaving the base of his cock exposed. He looks scrumptious in the dancing firelight. You hurry through the sketch, wanting to get back into that bed with your beautiful man.


End file.
